


#SoMarried

by grapehyasynth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Undercover, fancy pants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 17:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7062748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sick of FitzSimmons thinking they're successfully keeping their relationship secret (everyone knows), Daisy sets out to trick them into revealing themselves through a fancy undercover op in which they're posing as a married couple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	#SoMarried

**Author's Note:**

> [Check out the HAWT manip that peggyleggy made for this fic!!!](http://leggy--peggy.tumblr.com/post/145284769580/fitzsimmons-with-jemma-wearing-x-per-request)

“This is just getting ridiculous,” Daisy grumbled. 

Mack grunted in agreement. They were standing in the hallway outside the lab, arms crossed, watching FitzSimmons orbit around each other. The two scientists seemed to never be more than a few inches away from each other, and sometimes their arms would brush as they leaned over a tablet or beaker or new piece of tech. 

“They can’t seriously think we don’t know, right?” Daisy continued. “Like, I mean, sure, they’re not openly making out or anything, but I can  _ tell _ , Mack. Something’s different.” 

“You’re absolutely right, Tremors.” Mack felt he had an unspoken pact with Simmons to not say anything to the rest of the team about what may or may not have happened in Bucharest. Still, that didn’t mean he couldn’t help Daisy with her investigations moving forward. He had a healthy respect for other people’s privacy, but FitzSimmons were acting like the they’d successfully pulled the wool over the others’ eyes and it was starting to grate on Mack’s dignity.

“May disabled my access to the security footage so that’s a no go.”

“That wouldn’t have anything to do with that montage you put together of her kicking other people’s asses, would it?”

“No, definitely not.” Daisy chewed her lip. “There’s gotta be some way to prove they’re together without actually barging in on them having sex.”

“You could ask them,” Mack suggested. “Though this might be dangerous waters -- if they’re keeping it secret because they’re afraid Coulson would shut it down, you might not want to go there.”

“Come on, Coulson wants this as much as any of us. It’d be like seeing his kids get married.” At that, her draw dropped and she turned to him, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. I’ll be right back.”

“Whatever it is, it sounds like a terrible idea!” Mack called after her as she jogged away down the hallway.

Fitz and Jemma looked up at his voice and he waved awkwardly before strolling away as casually as he could manage.  
  
  
  
  


“Come again?”

“It’s a simple recon mission. You two go in, scope out the other guests, mingle, report back. Zero chance of danger.”

“Yes, but--” Fitz glanced between Jemma and Coulson. “Sir, I think the part where you lost us was when you explained why it had be Agent Simmons and I who go.”

“We need two people who make a convincing couple,” Coulson said calmly, not reacting to their awkward fidgets or the way they very purposefully didn’t look at each other as he said this.  _ Honestly, these kids are supposed to be spies?  _ “Plus, it’s a space gala. Everyone there has some affiliation with private sector space exploration. You two will be able to talk them up.”

“But couldn’t you and May go? Not that you’re a couple,” Jemma rushed to add. “We’ve helped you with the scientific verbiage before via comms--”

  
“Yeah, as I recall, that particular mission didn’t go so well,” Coulson interrupted. “Agent May and I can only fake it to a certain degree. You two are the real thing. Scientists, that is, not a couple.”

“Definitely not a couple,” Fitz mumbled. Daisy smirked.

“What about Mack and Daisy, then?”

“Don’t look at me, I hate undercover,” Mack protested, hands raised before him as if in self-defense.

“Oh, and we’re assigning missions based on personal preference now?” Jemma huffed.

“Jemma, this should be, like, your dream mission,” Daisy reminded her. “You get to go talk nerdy with a bunch of rich people who can actually make your weird theoretical ideas happen. Plus there’s an open bar.”

“We could be bartenders,” Fitz suggested quickly. “Why do we need to go as guests? We could still talk to people and gather information as we serve them drinks.”

“What’s the alcohol in a Cosmopolitan?” May asked drily.

“Rum?” Jemma guessed at the same time that Fitz chuckled, “That’s not a real drink, she’s making that up.”

“We would study,” Jemma promised, almost pleading. “We could learn all the drinks people are likely to request--”

“No time for that,” Coulson cut her off. “Besides, you’ll have to spend the flight memorizing the guests’ profiles anyway. It’s not up for debate,” he said firmly as Jemma opened her mouth again. “You two are going in as a married couple. You’ll come up with your own backstories. Daisy’s taking care of your outfits and the invites, I’ll coordinate transportation, May will fly you out and brief you on what exactly we’re looking for. Daisy and Mack will take comms in case you need any extra support.”

“Yes sir,” Jemma and Fitz sighed in unison.

“And Fitzsimmons?”

“Yes sir?”

“Maybe have a little fun. Do your research, find out who’s selling what, identify any potential threats -- anyone who sounds a little too enthusiastic about aliens -- but then have some champagne. Relax a bit.”

They looked at him oddly before Jemma herded Fitz out in that unspoken way they moved around each other without touching. Coulson shook his head, smiling slightly to himself as he scrolled through the guest list on his tablet. Mack and Daisy followed FitzSimmons out, but May lingered.

“Is this mission really necessary, Phil?”

“Oh, not at all,” he replied easily. “But I think they’ve earned it, don’t you? Only wish we could all go, but--” He shrugged. “Budget’s not that generous.”

“Daisy talked you into this, didn’t she?” May crossed her arms, looking at him with that dispassionate look which couldn’t be called a glare but which imparted the same level of judgment.

“They think they’ve fooled us, Melinda! I just--” Coulson waved his hands in exasperation. “Sometimes I feel the need to remind them that I’m in charge around here.”

“Hmm. You’re lucky I let you think that,” May scoffed, and left his office before he could retort.  
  
  
  
  


“I couldn’t help but notice you were rather opposed to the idea of us acting as a married couple,” Fitz called from Jemma’s ensuite bathroom, where he was shaving his scruff. (Just trimming, mind you -- Jemma and Daisy had been quite firm about that.)

“It’s nothing personal,” Jemma replied distractedly from her seat on her bed, where she was sorting through the box of jewelry Daisy had dropped off. “I’m just afraid we’ll say or do something a little too close to the truth and out ourselves.”

Fitz came out to lean on the doorframe of the bathroom, watching her. “You don’t think they know, do you?”

She twisted around to look at him. “Do you think Mack told them?”

“No, he wouldn’t, but-- Daisy has been asking me rather strange questions.” He scratched behind his ear a bit awkwardly. “Like what shampoo you use and whether I think you’re a snorer.”

“What did you say?” Jemma demanded indignantly.

“I told her she’s a weirdo and I didn’t know, don’t worry,” Fitz assured her. “You do snore a bit, though.”

Jemma tutted and returned to her task. “Even if they did know, why send us on this mission? It’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Maybe that’s the point.” Fitz turned the light off in the bathroom and came to sit next to her. “Trying to get us so caught up in the whole thing that we let something slip.”

“Let’s outmaneuver them, then,” Jemma said, suddenly very eager, the thrill of competition lighting up her whole face. “Daisy and Mack will be listening in on comms... Now that  _ we  _ know that  _ they  _ know, we can toy with them like housecats with unsuspecting mice.”

“You, my dear, are absolutely brilliant,” Fitz murmured, leaning in to kiss her cheek.

“ _ My dear _ ?” she asked, scrunching up her nose.

“Sorry,” he said quickly, “I was trying to get into character.”

“Oh, in that case, carry on.”

“You’re still sticking with  _ Claribel Oswald _ , then? A bit transparent, don’t you think?”

“Says the man who chose  _ Ronan Williams _ ! I mean, really...”

“I identify with Rory!” Fitz protested. “The similarities are undeniable.” He was silent for a moment, watching her turn over a gold bracelet. “You’re not unlike Amy Pond yourself. The Girl Who Waited.”

“I’m not sure that’s a comparison I’m eager to investigate,” Jemma said softly, not looking up.

“Course.” Fitz let it drop, but he nudged her leg with his knee gently to let her know he understood.

The door flew open a second later and Daisy strode through, only barely avoiding tripping over the giant garment bags she carried. “Whassup?? You guys ready for your night out on the town? I’ve got your clothes right here -- Fitz, you have to leave while I help Jemma with hers--”

“We’re not  _ actually _ getting married, I can see her in her dress before the mission,” Fitz complained.

“Uh, yes, you are  _ totally _ getting married. Look, I even got you guys rings.” She dangled a matching set of simple gold bands. “Wasn’t sure what you guys preferred so I just went old-school. Ooh, this is the first time I’m being a ring-bearer! I always figured I’d be more likely to be your maid of honor, or best man, really--”

“I’ll take that, then,” Fitz muttered, grabbing the bag she’d been holding out to him and high-tailing it out the door, an insistent blush clearly evident above his collar.

“Boys, am I right?” Daisy chuckled, carefully setting Jemma’s garment bag over a chair. “First mention of marriage and they get cold feet. I thought Fitz was better than that, but hey, that’s your problem. Your undercover problem, I mean, of course.” She smiled innocently at Jemma.

“I’ll just get dressed, then,” Jemma said calmly, setting the jewelry box aside.

“Nuh-uh, make-up first, then the gown.”

“Gown?” Jemma repeated, slightly panicked.

“It’s a gala, Jemma, what did you think you’d be wearing? A little black dress? Don’t worry, what I chose will still make Fitz’s brain short-circuit.”

“That’s not -- he’s supposed to be focused on the mission,” Jemma said, flustered, as Daisy moved her over to a chair and laid out some make-up on her dresser. “And I hardly think  _ I’m  _ Fitz’s type. The only chemistry Coulson saw is from a friendship built up over a decade--”

“Close your eyes,” Daisy ordered, kneeling in front of Jemma.

“Not too much,” Jemma warned.

“Relax, Jemma, with a face like yours you could pull off anything.” Jemma’s eyes popped open and Daisy added soothingly, “I’ve got this, okay? Not too much.”

Jemma glared at her a second longer but eventually shut her eyes again. Daisy started to dust her eyelids with shadow.

“So, you nervous about this whole thing? I mean, I know things were rocky between you and Fitz for a while, there was that awkward time when he was like in _love_ with you, I can imagine it might be suuuuper weird to have to pretend to be  _ married  _ to the guy--”

“Fitz and I are in a good place,” Jemma said firmly as Daisy worked on her eyeliner and mascara. “Our friendship can handle anything, Daisy. Besides, we’re consummate professionals. We know how to keep our personal issues separate from our work.”

“Okay, okay, I hear you.” Daisy smiled, enjoying the way Jemma’s jaw was set with determination. “I just hope it doesn’t get weird for you two if you have to, like, talk about how he proposed or something.”

“We’ve thoroughly planned our backstory--”

Jemma tried to keep talking but Daisy grabbed her chin and held her in place. “Lipstick time. No talking.” She grinned to herself, carefully applying a subtle red. “Speaking of lips, I’ve never really been undercover myself, not since that time with Ian Quinn, but I hear that if you need a diversion, making out with someone is a really good way to go.”

“Okay, I think that’s quite enough,” Jemma snapped, opening her eyes and pushing Daisy’s hands away. She turned to look at herself in the mirror and her jaw dropped open slightly before she could stop herself.

“Just admit it, you look hot,” Daisy teased. “I know you and Fitz are only together for a cover, but the boy might start getting other ideas. Just wait til you see this dress.”  
  
  
  
  
  


Fitz fidgeted nervously with his cuffs again, trying to remember whether the sleeves of his white shirt should or should  _ not  _ peek out from under his suit jacket -- Mack Coulson had had so much advice that he’d only managed to hold on to a fraction of it.

He felt better than he’d expected to, honestly, when he’d opened the garment bag and seen the navy blue suit. Daisy must have gotten his measurements from the tac gear supply team because the suit fit him better than any he’d ever owned, from the set of the jacket over his shoulders to the snugness of the little vest to the cut of the trousers, which accented his bum well (and he knew how much Jemma enjoyed that particular feature). Coulson had decided against a tie, for which Fitz was grateful, but he still felt quite dashing as Ronan Williams and was eagerly, if somewhat anxiously, anticipating Jemma’s reaction to seeing him dressed like this.

“Here comes the bride!” Daisy squealed, darting into the room and clapping her hands. May rolled her eyes.

Any thought of impressing Jemma fled the instant she stepped into the room, looking nervously around at them all. Fitz saw her face first and felt his heart stutter a bit -- it was still Jemma’s face, no more or less beautiful than the face he saw every morning upon waking up, but Daisy had done  _ something  _ with those undecipherable make-up palettes that made Jemma look a little more daring, more striking, somehow  _ celestial _ .

His eyes slipped down from there and he gulped as he saw how far her neckline descended. That swath of pale skin would be decidedly distracting throughout the night.

The dress itself -- lord have mercy. It was made of some gauzy dark blue material, matching Fitz’s suit, and it covered Jemma’s chest loosely before gathering at the waist in a broad cinch of golden thread and cascading to the floor. Golden flowers flowed across the material, but from a distance they could be mistaken for constellations.

“Hang in there, buddy,” Mack said sympathetically, clapping Fitz on the shoulder.

Fitz had a sudden flash to an imaginary, hypoxia-induced Jemma admiring Mack’s physique and had to swallow down several adamant admonitions for his friend. He cleared his throat, realizing everyone was staring at him, including Jemma, and crossed the room to her.

“You look a right vision,” he murmured to her. She was wearing the bracelet she’d been handling earlier and he held out her ring for her, resisting the urge to put it on for her and see what their bands looked like next to each other.

“Seems a shame to put on such an expensive suit when the only logical reaction your girlfriend could have to seeing you in it is to tear it off,” Jemma replied softly.

“God, Jemma, please, I’d rather not have the whole team see me with a tent in my pants,” he groaned. “We’d have a hard time keeping our secret then.”

“A  _ hard _ time?” She smirked at him before they turned, rearranging their expressions into mild disinterest, to face the other agents. Daisy seemed torn between openly beaming and crying, and even May and Coulson weren’t bothering to hide small smiles.

“Shall we?” Jemma asked calmly. “Fitz and I would rather not be late.”

“Your carriage awaits,” Daisy intoned, gesturing dramatically towards the hangar.  
  
  
  
  


“This is mad,” Fitz muttered as he clambered out of the Porsche Coulson had rented for their drive from the airfield to the museum where the gala was being held. “We can’t have the latest virtual reality tech but we have the money for this?”

“He could at least have let us take Lola,” Jemma agreed, handing the keys to a valet.

“Not a chance,” Mack chuckled in their earpieces. “He loves you guys, but there are limits.”

“Besides, Fitz, who knows what kind of dirty stuff you’d use that virtual reality stuff for? Since you, y’know, don’t have a girlfriend,” Daisy chimed in.

Jemma rolled her eyes at Fitz.  _ So obvious _ , she mouthed.

_ Are they even trying _ ? He mouthed back. She shook her head and took his hand, leading him up the dramatic front steps to the entrance.

“Claribel and Ronan Williams,” Fitz said to the bouncer, noting that despite his own objections, their cover names did sound quite nice together.

“I might be on there as Claribel  _ Oswald _ ,” Jemma cut in, leaning over to try to see the guest list. “He’s still bitter I didn’t take his name.”

Daisy snorted over the comms.

“I just fret about how it’ll confuse the little ones, Claribel dearest,” Fitz sighed, slipping an arm around Jemma’s waist. He couldn’t remember if Ronan and Claribel were supposed to be argumentative or affectionate, so he decided to just stick to the particular Fitzsimmons blend of the two. Though he’d have to remember to dial the affectionate back a bit, for Mack and Daisy’s sake.

“Go right ahead,” the bouncer muttered without looking up.

In the front hallway, they were stopped at a queue where each guest or couple waited to be photographed before entering the main chamber.

“Give us something Coulson can keep in his wallet,” Mack urged as they reached the front of the line. Daisy’s giggles were clearly audible.

“Right over here, then,” the photographer instructed, waving them in front of a white screen. They blinked a little in the bright lights. “Put your arm around her. There you go -- you look lovely by the way, dear,” he said with a slight wink.

Fitz tugged Jemma tighter against him protectively, hand settling on her hip so that his fingers splayed over the golden brocade at her waist.   


The photographer snapped a couple shots, checked them on his camera, then nodded, satisfied. “You can pick them up before you leave. Next!”

“Was he flirting with you in front of your husband?” Fitz muttered to Jemma as they filtered through the crowd and into the ballroom.

“Actually, I thought he was flirting with you,” Jemma replied coolly. Fitz looked at her in surprise and she shrugged. “Ronan Williams is a catch.”

Fitz felt this was straying a bit too close to honest territory, especially with the audience in their earbuds, but Jemma was slightly -- only  _ slightly,  _ mind you -- more experienced at deception, so he would follow her lead.

“Champagne?” she asked him, nodding towards a refreshment table along the side of the room.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he sighed in relief.

They wound their way through the throngs of people -- none of whom were dressed more dashingly than the pair of them, Fitz noted with sharp pride. Jemma held onto Fitz’s hand behind her as they moved, never letting his fingertips slip from hers.

“Shall we toast?” Fitz asked as Jemma handed him a fluted glass.

“To newlyweds.” Jemma looked up at him slightly nervously, reaching around to tug the end of her ponytail. The words made his stomach flutter a bit, he had to admit. “And a lifetime of happiness.”

“To space,” he added, clinking his glass against hers. She hid her giggle in her drink, as they both knew to Mack and Daisy it would sound like an innocent observation on the purpose of the gala, while to them it had a much more beautiful connotation.

“Do you want to dance?” Jemma asked once she’d drained her glass. “Ronan Williams seems like the kind of husband who’d jealously keep his wife from dancing with other men.”

She raised her eyebrows at him, the seductive effect somewhat ruined by her radiant and goofy smile, but he still followed her onto the dance floor, which he’d never have done if she weren’t in that dress and he weren’t in this suit and he didn’t love this woman to absolute bits and feel willing to follow her to the end of other earths.

“Fitz, are you getting interference in your comms?” Jemma said as he placed a hand on her waist and took one of her hands with the other.

“You know, Simmons, I think I am -- Mack, Daisy, we’re going to go offline for a second, let it reboot.”

They’d discussed this ahead of time, so instead of actually disconnecting their comms, they turned them off then right back on again, so quickly Daisy and Mack might not have noticed. To their teammates it would appear as if Fitz and Jemma had left their comms on by accident and were having a frank, cover-less conversation.  


“Now,” Jemma sighed, stepping close to Fitz as they started to sway, “we can talk without those busybodies listening in.”

“Have you had a chance to talk to Coulson yet? About letting us move in together?”

“Actually, I was thinking, we might have to reconsider that proposition altogether. With the baby on the way--”

Fitz had to quickly turn his snort of surprised laughter into an exaggerated cough. Jemma giggled quietly herself, imagining Mack and Daisy’s faces at this moment.

“There simply won’t be enough space in one of those bunks,” Jemma continued when he’d gotten himself under control again. “Perhaps he’ll let us take down a wall to combine two bunks?”

“We could ask for a reassignment to a different unit,” Fitz suggested. “I’ve heard the Hub has some family accommodations. And remember, Jemma, twins run in my dad’s side of the family, so you never know--”

“Was your mum very upset that we’ll have to be married in the States?”

“Nah, she understood. I’m thinking I might surprise her with a plane ticket, though.”

“Oh, that’s darling of you.” Fitz scrunched his nose at her use of the word  _ darling  _ and she mouthed,  _ Too much?  _ He shrugged.

“How do you think the team will take it?” he queried, sliding his hand around to her lower back, guiding her across the dance floor as best he could with absolutely zero experience.

“I’d be surprised if Mack didn’t finally get you your monkey, honestly,” Jemma said pointedly. He grinned appreciatively.  


“Well, we should talk to Coulson when we get back. You’re past the uncertain part of your pregnancy so it seems safe to start making decisions. But only if you’re comfortable.”

Jemma looked up at him, his earnest eyes reflecting the chandeliers above them, and felt a strange tightness in her chest. Yes, this was the same lanky, awkward boy she’d once seen vomit from just one shot of vodka their first year at the Academy, but they’d both grown immeasurably in the interim and this conversation they were having, about children and a future and a partnership -- it didn’t feel that foreign.

“They’ll be wondering what’s going on,” she said quickly, blinking rapidly and pointing to her ear. “Shall we go back online?”

They released each other, moving off the dance floor as they pretended to turn the comms back on.

“Can you hear us?” Fitz asked, leaning over so it would look like he was murmuring in Jemma’s ear. They might be deceiving their own team, but they weren’t supposed to let the other guests in on the game, either.

“Yeah!” Daisy called back a bit too quickly and too loudly. Fitz and Jemma both jumped, their hands going to their ears reflexively. “Loud and clear.”

“What happened there, Turbo? Interference?” Mack’s voice was much more believably concerned than Daisy’s, but Jemma still rolled her eyes.

“Something like that, yeah,” Fitz smirked. “We’re going to mingle now, so tell us if you overhear anything we should jump in on.”

They spoke with a few former astronauts and NASA technicians, but as Coulson had mentioned, most of the guests were affiliated with the private sector. Fitz got into a rather heated debate about the potential for gravity-adjusting fabrics with a self-proclaimed space fashionista (“the very concept of which profession is preposterously unnecessary,” he muttered to Jemma afterwards), but mostly they only stayed in conversations long enough to ascertain the general nature of each individual’s research or investment.

“These people all seem quite tame, really,” Jemma mused as they took a break on the edge of the room. “No mentions of aliens at all.”

“Boring, unimaginative blighters,” Fitz grumbled, tugging at his collar. It was starting to itch, and whatever Jemma promised about getting him out of it in creative ways later, he was ready to take it off immediately.

“I find it comforting, really,” Jemma countered. “Not everyone is in this business to take over the universe--”

“Oh no,” Fitz said suddenly, grabbing Jemma’s wrist and pulling her back against the wall with him.

“What?”

“Talbot,” he hissed, gesturing with his chin.

“What’s he doing there?” Mack demanded. “Isn’t he supposed to focus on the terrestrial wars?”

“Those lines blur every day,” Daisy reminded him. “Did he see you guys?”

“He’d probably not recognize me anyway, we’ve barely met--” Jemma craned her neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the general. “Oh dear, he’s coming this way--”

“He’d remember me,” Fitz said miserably. “He and I had a... memorable theatrical encounter.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Daisy snorted.

“He can explain later,” Mack cut in. “Guys, I know this isn’t a high-stakes op but Talbot’s not exactly on the best of terms with Coulson at the moment, he’d probably be pretty ticked to find some of his agents there--”

“You know what you guys could use, Jemma?” Daisy practically shouted into the comms. “A  _ distraction _ !”

“You’re going to hell, Daisy. You know that, right?” Jemma sighed without much actual venom. And with a look of resignation she turned and practically plastered Fitz to the wall.

He yelped in surprise but responded in kind, his hands quickly finding her lower back and pulling her against him. They couldn’t sustain this sort of very-public snogging for long without causing a ruckus to the point of negating their diversion, but the tactic had come sanctioned by their comms team, so why not?

Jemma pulled back to press sloppy kisses along Fitz’s jaw. She raised her eyebrows significantly and he got the message -- they had an audience, might as well play it up.

“Oh, Jem - er, Claribel,” he moaned stutteringly as Jemma stifled a giggle against his neck.

“Can you see Talbot?” she whispered breathily. He wasn’t sure whether to be turned on or to laugh.

“Yeah, he’s shaking hands with that Musk fellow,” he replied, trying to recapture her lips. “They’re headed out of the room though--”

Finally Jemma kissed him again, though at this point it was probably unnecessary.

“They’re gone,” he panted when they finally broke apart.

Jemma pressed a loud kiss to his cheek, close to the input microphone for their comms, and murmured, “More of this later.”

“Was that for me or them?” Fitz asked quietly, putting a hand over his microphone.

Jemma shrugged. “Both?”

“Coulson might actually be really interested to hear about this. Not -- _this_ ,” Mack said quickly as Daisy guffawed with laughter. “About Talbot. If he’s meeting with people about space exploration, you can bet the US army’s up to something fishy.”

“If you guys feel like you’re done there, you can head out and meet May back at the airfield. And Jemma?”

“Yes, Daisy?”

“Good work, girl. Proud of you.” 

  
  
  
  


They collected their photos and walked hand in hand to the valet stand. As they waited for the ridiculous Porsche to be pulled around, Fitz tilted the top picture so he could see it in the streetlights.

“This is actually quite nice,” he said, surprised. “We look rather good.”

“Of course we do, Mr. Williams.” Jemma hugged Fitz around the middle. “Think Coulson will be happy with just a copy? I’d rather like to hang that in my bunk.”

“ _ Our _ bunk, you mean,” Fitz corrected, turning off his comms for real this time.

Jemma did the same. She played with his lapel, looking up at him fondly. “Our bunk.”

“I rather liked being married to you,” Fitz commented, then paled and rushed to say, “I don’t mean--”

“I liked being married to you too,” Jemma cut him off quickly, biting her lip to keep her smile from growing painfully wide. “Not that we need to repeat it anytime  _ soon _ , but--”

“File the information away for later,” Fitz suggested hopefully.

“Definitely.”

They stopped at a pizza stand on the way back, having had nothing but miniature cream puffs for dinner at the gala. They ate on the curb, too afraid to dare drip grease in the Porsche; Fitz spread his pocket square for Jemma to sit on and she wrapped her dress around her thighs so it wouldn’t fall into the gutter.

They didn’t bother dropping each other’s hands when they walked from the car to meet May at the foot of the Quinjet. She smirked at them slightly but said nothing.

Daisy was waiting for them when they disembarked. She grinned and bounded forward to hug them both.

“So I guess you knew the whole time, huh?” she chuckled when she pulled back.

“It seems you all did as well,” Jemma scolded.

“Yeah,” Daisy grimaced. “Sorry for the runaround -- actually, I’m not sorry, this was _so_ worth it.”

“It’s not how we would’ve liked you all to find out, but...”

“Why’d you agree to the mission if you knew it was basically a farce?”

“Free bar, fancy clothes, night out? All on Coulson’s dime? If he won’t let us take vacation days, we can at least accept a date at his expense,” Fitz explained, putting an arm around Jemma. Daisy watched that movement and looked like she’d faint from happiness.

“Mack knew, by the way,” Jemma added. “He’s known for several weeks.”

“That little--” Daisy swore and spun on her heel. “I feel like I’ve been quadruple-agented by my own team! I am NOT letting him get you a monkey for your wedding!” she called as she made off down the hallway.

“We’re not getting married,” Fitz shouted. 

“Oh you _totally_ are!” 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr! I'm grapehyasynth there as well!


End file.
